


Think about the place where you first met me

by moonmotels



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst, F/F, Literally what is wrong with me, hurt & more hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmotels/pseuds/moonmotels
Summary: misty + cordelia + loose ends
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 21
Kudos: 62





	Think about the place where you first met me

**Author's Note:**

> brought to u by alcohol and folklore on vinyl, proceed at ur own risk

One Friday evening, after having Cordelia three times over and once in the shower, Misty decides she’s done.

They’d tried.

Given it their best effort, really.

But they both knew their time together had an end date stamped upon it, like a glowing red neon sign off in the distance neither wanted to admit to noticing.

This wasn’t some grand decision marked by a careless and thoughtless idea - Misty had known this was coming for months. Maybe she’d always known her ability to live in a fantasy world like this would run out, like gold spun yarn at the end of its roll or a carafe emptied of the finest liquor known to man. If asked to describe it, she would just have to say she’s empty.

Tired.

Not tired of Cordelia. Never that. She was tired of pretending to be someone she wasn’t, someone who doesn’t ache for the call of nature where she can be herself.

It wasn’t Cordelia’s fault; she had certainly tried. She’d given Misty everything she needed and more, but how do you give someone the space to be themselves when your souls have been so delicately entwined that it hurts to be away from their side?

Risky decisions like this always meet cataclysmic ends. Shouldn’t someone have told her that?

Misty lay still under pristine white sheets, her limbs molded into Cordelia’s ever-warm embrace. Not caring that her wet hair had dampened the pillow they shared, she clutches onto the familiar body beneath a little tighter and closes her eyes.

“I think it’s almost time.”

Cordelia’s body stiffens, and Misty swears the following silence rings in her ears as if mocking her.

“Where will you go?”

“I dunno,” Misty answers, her face still hidden in the crook of Cordelia’s neck. If she tries hard enough, she can block out the scent of potting soil and wildflowers, the smell that makes her toes curl and senses go on the fritz. “My shack maybe. Or I always wanted to see the East Coast.”

A little looser now, a little more sadness painting her tone, Cordelia struggles to grasp the nerve to ask, “You don’t need me to come with you?”

As in, _you don’t want me_?

“I need to do this alone.”

Anger briefly and ferociously rises in Cordelia’s chest, bold and raw like her love for Misty. It’s unsettling, having Misty in her arms and knowing it has to come to an end like every other goddamn good thing in her life. She has the right to be angry, she thinks, but anger will get her nowhere at this point in time. It will just hurt Misty more than she has already been hurt, and Cordelia would sooner cut her own arm off rather than reach towards her with poison in the touch.

“What’s wrong with being here?”

_What’s wrong with being here, with me?_

Misty fidgets with the hem of Cordelia’s silk slip, follows the stitched seam up with her eyes until the fabric splays over the curve of her breast, the outline of her nipple that she dares not put her mouth on.

“I’m not myself. I don’t feel right with all a’ these big rooms and people. I love ‘em, but it’s too much.”

“I can come with you. Give me a month to get my affairs in order,” Cordelia can hear her words start to fall out as if she’s begging, and Christ would it be embarrassing if she could feel anything but the mounting desperation that rises in her chest. If she does beg and achieve her goal, she convinces herself she could live off moments like this, fleeting bursts of time together to repair the damage done in her previous life. The one she had lived pre-Misty.

But - Misty wonders how could she take Cordelia away from here? This is where she belongs, not in the woods surrounded by streams and calling birds, not anywhere that would require her to become the nomad Misty is. To even consider doing such a thing would be a grand betrayal to Cordelia because unlike Misty, she is meant to thrive off human connection.

Throwing her emotional baggage into the dark and bleak atmosphere to soldier on, Misty is suddenly shifting so that she’s hovering above Cordelia. Quick hands make easy work of pushing straps off freckled shoulders and soon the woman beneath is bare once again. It’s easier to speak without words, especially when the noises she can wring with her mouth produce so much more volume. Leaning down to press hot kisses into her neck, Misty shuts her eyes and begins whispering ‘ _it’s okay_ ’ over and over until Cordelia has no choice but to melt into the warmth of her lips. The conversation can wait.

Selfishly, she spreads her legs as Misty descends, quiet words falling out like tiny prayers against her skin in the unholiest manner.

Maybe, for another hour, they can pretend some more.

It’s a Tuesday morning when Cordelia’s life begins unraveling again.

She’s barefoot. Her hair is down and messy like usual, but there’s a look upon her face that Cordelia has never seen before as she steps into the kitchen. Having studied every line and curve of Misty’s face like an art student covering Picasso’s greatest works, it hurts Cordelia to be unable to tell what she’s feeling. Sorrow? Anguish? Pure, unbridled anticipation for what lays beyond this house?

Her hands rattling around the mug of tea she’d just poured, Cordelia sets it down on the kitchen island before she breaks the ceramic with the sheer force of emotion that pushes against her. Somehow she can just tell it’s time. Misty’s presence is startling, very unlike her usual exhilarating entrance to rooms.

That’s when she notices the bag.

The one from Christmas, the one that had been gifted for trips they would take together in the future.

But it’s the future and they’re not going anywhere.

(At least not together.)

Misty is still gazing at her with that strange look upon her face when Cordelia comments, “I thought you’d give me a little more warning.”

“It’s easier this way.”

“To just up and leave? I’m glad you did it early so I can get myself together before my first class,” she snaps.

“Don’t be like that, please,” Misty says quietly. “You knew this was coming.”

“Doesn’t hurt any less.”

“I’ll visit,” she replies, but they both know she won’t. That wouldn’t be fair to either of them in the long run.

So now, there is nothing between them anymore. No live, tangible ball of string that links them together so effortlessly. There is nothing but the endless pain of moving on before it’s even ended.

“Will you keep in touch?” Cordelia’s voice doesn’t waver and for that she is thankful.

“If y’want me to.”

“I meant for the girls, so they know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

A quick flash of hurt runs across Misty’s features and Cordelia almost feels bad. She can’t, though, not when Misty has hurt her first and hurt her worse.

Bending down to pick up her small satchel, she hoists it over her shoulder like she’s burdened with the weight of the damage she’s done here. It’s almost comical, because Cordelia knows the only thing in that bag is probably two clothing articles and the rest filled with Misty’s empty promises.

“Will you promise to try and be okay with this? I can’t live with myself knowing…” Misty’s voice trails off, but Cordelia can fill in the blanks.

“Knowing what, that you’ve hurt me?”

“I’m not doing this for shits n’ giggles, Cordelia.”

“Forgive me then, for thinking such a preposterous thing.”

“I can’t have you fallin’ apart after I leave. I’d rather stay here and suffer than allow that.”

Cordelia opens her mouth to say _do that, please_ but at the very last second she stops herself. Inwardly chastising herself for having such a thought, she simply shrugs and answers, “What I do after you leave will have no effect on you whatsoever, so there’s no need to worry.”

“Delia.”

“What?”

“Look at me, please.”

There is static electricity in the air as their gazes level. Dark hazel colored eyes search baby blues for any signs of remorse, but there is nothing but the wall of emotion fiercely built up in the space between them. Cordelia wants to kiss her, wants to set fire to every last thing in this house, wants to scream at the top of her lungs, but she does none of that. Instead, she does nothing. Just like she always does.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” Misty says in a small voice, and she must know the shockwave it sends over Cordelia. “I need this, at least for a little while.”

“I’m not angry, I just don’t understand.”

Misty finally breaks eye contact and studies the floor for a beat too long.

“Then maybe you never understood me.”

When Misty’s hand lands on the doorknob, Cordelia watches as it opens in slow motion and she steps out into the beginning of her new life, gone like smoke dissipating cleanly into the air.

When she’s left alone, Cordelia could finally break. Can finally express her emotion; toss plates, drop glass, slam kitchen cabinets. But she doesn’t. Instead, she neatly pours her now-lukewarm tea down the drain and waits patiently for her hands to stop shaking. Calmly sitting down in her office to plan her schedule, she goes through the day like normal; acts as though her entire world has not just come crashing down and is laying in ashes at her feet.

The disbelief does not hit until later, when the unmade space in her bed greets her like a cruel joke. The emptiness now looms beneath her like a pit of despair, one she can no longer walk backwards from. This is her life now and she is falling into the abyss without a safety net. Tears drip down her cheeks, but she is not crying for what she has lost; instead cries over what she has never had with Misty. This time around it is sickening, the games being played that Cordelia has never once asked to join.

It’s a Thursday morning many moons later, when Cordelia first opens her eyes and doesn’t immediately feel hurt. Mostly, she’s just cold. The open window she’d cracked late last night as she’d chain smoked her hidden stash of cigarettes sends in wave after wave of crisp, cool air. The empty side of her bed previously filled by someone who shall not be thought of doesn’t particularly help either.

Rolling over on her back and pulling the comforter around herself, Cordelia stares up at the cracks in her ceiling and wonders, briefly, if she could carry out her work from this bed. The days seem longer lately, drag on like she’s stepped in quicksand and is simply growing tired of trying to break free. Without having someone waiting for her when she finally, blissfully crawls into bed at night, there’s not much to look forward to anymore.

Maybe sinking under the weight of the sand wouldn’t hurt that much.

Just as she ponders the idea of taking the day off, her bedroom door opens and Coco flits into the room, promptly making herself at home next to Cordelia.

“Share some covers, Jesus,” Coco quips, “it’s cold in this stupid room. And it smells like cigarettes.” Her nose wrinkles as she looks accusingly at the Supreme.

Cordelia inhales sharply as Coco’s ice cold toes find her warm calves. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Mhm, soon I’ll be finding empty wine bottles littered around and you’ll be telling me you don’t know where they came from.”

“I am not an alcoholic.”

“I give it two months.”

“Don’t look under my bed.” They both can’t help cracking a smile at that one. Small miracles and all that she hasn’t completely lost her marbles.

“Misty called at breakfast,” Coco continues on too casually. “She’s fine.”

Even the syllables that make up her name hurt. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know, that’s why I’m telling.”

Cordelia hums, her eyes shutting at the exhilarating feel of another human being in her bed.

“Don’t you wanna know about it?”

“About what?” she mumbles.

“How she’s doing, what she’s doing, if she’s eaten enough lately?”

“No.” _Yes_.

Coco fights the urge to roll her eyes, but the urge wins. Sighing dramatically, she pokes Cordelia in the chest until she opens her eyes and glares at the intrusion. “You can take her calls, you know. It’s getting kind of embarrassing having to lie and say you’re in the shower for the third time that day.”

“I have no desire to speak to her.”

“Why, because she left you?”

“Among other things.”

“No offense, Cords, but you’re kind of being a dick.”

Cordelia retracts backwards and almost whacks her skull on the headboard. “Excuse me?”

Coco nods solemnly. “She’s not dead and she’s not some random person you fucked once and never saw again. Everyone knows she means something to you.”

“Meant.”

“What?”

“She _meant_ something to me.”

“Bullshit,” Coco spits out. “You know, that’s your problem, you’re too goddamn hard-headed to realize that maybe her choices were meant to cater to your needs as well.”

This is how Coco and Cordelia speak to each other sometimes, bitter ugly truths spewed out with venom and pent up aggression. Today, though, Cordelia is not in the mood to confront the more or less accurate statements. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Did you ever think that maybe you needed to be alone too?”

“I was alone plenty of the time,” Cordelia scoffs.

“No,” Coco narrows her eyes. “Tell me again how you went from being a teenager to a marriage in your early twenties and then Misty right after?”

“So?”

“So, do you even know who you are without someone being in this bed next to you at night?” Coco is speaking to her slowly as if explaining simple math to a child.

“I know exactly who I am and I’m pretty confident with that if you haven’t noticed.”

“I’m not saying you’re not confident, I’m saying you’ve never been on your own long enough to know what it’s like to fend for yourself.”

“Well it fucking sucks,” Cordelia quietly relents. Maybe she can tell herself that she’s always felt most secure having someone to share things with; both good and bad.

“Welcome to the real world where some of us are single. Not everyone has the soft skin of a baby with perfect hair and magnificent tits.”

“Shut up,” she reaches to shove Coco, who dodges it gracefully. “I’m not perfect and you know that.”

“I know, I’ve seen you like this first thing in the morning.” For that, she takes the swat on her shoulder like a champ.

For a few moments Cordelia is allowed some peace and quiet, a nice reminder that Coco’s dramatics and harsh words have to end at some point. Then softly, she says, “I’m just so mad all the time.”

“Mad at Misty?”

A barely-there head nod.

“It’s okay to be upset, Cords. You know that, right?”

“I feel like I’m not allowed to be.”

“You feel like that because you love her.”

Cordelia shrinks inwardly, regressing like a turtle retreating into the safety of its inner shell. She doesn’t reply to that, because there’s no use in trying to explain to Coco that love isn’t the right word for how she felt about Misty.

At the lack of response, Coco observes her for a moment before realizing, “You never told her? Oh, what the fuck, Cordelia.”

Squeezing her eyes closed, Cordelia buries her face into the satin pillowcase before immediately cringing because it still, after all these months, smells like her. She reminds herself to take a trip for new bedsheets this week. “There was no point in telling her. She’d already made up her mind.”

“So you just let her leave?”

“She left on her own agenda,” Cordelia shoots back. “She wouldn’t have stayed anyway.”

“God, Cords, this whole wallow in self pity thing makes a lot more sense now.”

A sarcastic, “Thanks so much.”

Coco lovingly squeezes her hand and grows softer around the edges, reminding them both that she can occasionally be comforting. “How about we go out this weekend, yeah? It’ll get your mind off things. We can even go to that weird wine bar you like that only plays jazz.”

Reminded briefly of the time Misty had kissed her under the fairy lights in the back of the bar and then taken her home, she shakes her head no. “Not there.”

“But you’ll come out with me?”

Reluctantly, Cordelia warns, “Nothing wild.” At Coco’s unbridled joy, she believes that maybe she does deserve a quiet night out where she doesn’t have to spend time with the burden she’s carrying around everyday in her heart.

It’s a Saturday night, when Cordelia’s life begins its slow descent into the chaos that lies beneath the surface of calm she paints on.

At ten pm she’s begrudgingly pulling on her heels and double checking that both of her earrings are in place. Coco unfortunately had not forgotten about their night out, planning some grand evening that Cordelia knew would probably include men, alcohol, and likely strippers. Sighing, she makes her slow walk down the grand staircase. In the kitchen, surrounded by bottles of liquor and randomly strewn lipsticks, is Coco, waiting with a mischievous grin.

Thirty minutes and three shots later, Cordelia is stepping out of the car onto the busy street, hoping desperately she’s back in bed by midnight.

Coco hooks her arm around Cordelia’s elbow, tugging her inside the dimly lit bar she’s never seen before. Inside, it smells strongly of cedar and good red wine. Surprised, she allows herself to be pulled over to the wood carved stools sitting at the far end of the bar. Away from loud groups of people who seem to be enjoying their lives much more than she is, Cordelia relaxes and peruses the small menu in front of her.

When there’s two wine glasses in front of them, Cordelia’s already half drunk in record time, Coco opens her mouth. “I have a confession,” she says.

“Of course you do.”

“So there’s this guy I met, right, and he owns the brewery down the street,” she explains, “So I told him I was coming here and he’ll meet us in like an hour, is that okay?”

“I’m leaving after he gets here.”

“Cords!” Coco honest to God pouts. “Please, he’s really nice and I promise it won’t be weird.”

“My entire life has been weird lately, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Drink your wine and pretend to have a good time.”

Four glasses of really good wine later, Cordelia finally feels free. Not in the sense that she can truly heal from her recent loss, but enough that she feels loose lipped and weightless. It’s nice to have something radiating throughout her body that isn’t inescapable pain.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asks her best friend suddenly.

Coco gives her a weird look and shakes her head. “I don’t date for love, I date for dic-”

“Don’t finish that.”

“I’m just saying,” Coco makes a crooked smile, “it’s easier that way. No heartbreak at the end.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe Cordelia should have gotten advice from her years ago. How sad.

“Misty told me one time,” she admits quietly.

For all the times Coco has poked fun of her or made a grand gesture out of small things, she simply places her hand on Cordelia's knee now and waits for her to continue.

Blinking back tears that she didn’t even notice were there a moment ago, Cordelia finishes, “She told me she loved me and I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.” The hair on the back of her neck stands as she recalls every painstaking detail of the night it happened.

**

Misty’s hands had been worshipping every inch of Cordelia’s body; in her hair, her chest, pressing softly between her legs. Replacing her hands with a thigh, Misty maneuvers so they’re face to face, grinning at each other in the moonlight.

“You’re so warm,” she mumbles as she presses a kiss to Cordelia’s temple. Holding her close, Misty wonders if this brief slice of heaven is a fever dream.

“You should be thanking me, considering you lived in this icebox alone,” Cordelia laughs, gesturing broadly to the various cracks in the four shack walls. “I wonder who kept you warm at night back then.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teases back.

“I’m serious, I don’t know how you lived out here by yourself. You’re not scared?”

“Only thing I’m scared of is centipedes n’ airplanes,” Misty nods her head with seriousness. “No human is meant to be up in the air like that.”

“Noted,” Cordelia responds, sliding her hands up Misty’s torso in an attempt to warm them up. “Road trips only.”

Reaching up beside them to grab the plate of miscellaneous snacks they’d prepared before getting distracted, Misty sets it between them on the bed and pops a cherry between her lips. Cordelia watches enamored as the scene plays out in slow motion like a montage in a romance film where the main character realizes they’re in love.

That’s silly - right?

Pressing a grape into Cordelia’s mouth, Misty looks at her similarly for a second before her features twist nervously just enough to be noticeable.

“Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Anything.” (And she means that. If Misty asked to be whisked away tomorrow on a boat to some random island, Cordelia would charter the goddamn thing and make sure she doesn’t get sunburnt on the way there.)

“What are we doing here?”

“You mean like, here? At your shack?” Playing dumb is not one of Cordelia’s strong suits and they both know it.

Misty looks frustrated. “No, like us. What’re we doin’?”

“I don’t know,” her other half admits, “I’m just as lost as you are.”

Sitting up sideways, her flannel falling indecently off one shoulder, Misty looks like all the greatest dreams Cordelia’s ever had, all wrapped into one angelic form. “I’m not lost, Delia. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

“I’m in love with you,” Misty speaks into existence, and for a single brief moment, the earth stops spinning. It is a beautiful, wonderful string of words that makes the most magical symphony come alive in the confines of her heart. Cordelia has been thrown into orbit where she is no longer of this world but Misty is still speaking, “Yeah, I am. Can’t say I coulda held that in any longer.” The wild haired blonde splits into a wide grin, her fingers dancing along the inside of Cordelia’s wrist.

When there’s no reply, her smile falters a little.

“Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, Mist, yes.” Sitting up a little, Cordelia tries to reach over and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Distressed when Misty dodges the touch, she opens her mouth to remedy the situation. “It’s just -”

“Too much, I get it. Don’ worry bout it.”

Beating her to the next round of words, Misty swings her naked legs over the bed and mumbles something about needing to get some air. Watching silently as she pulls on some pants and her sandals, Cordelia takes note of how good she looks even walking out of the door.

(What’s with Misty and leaving? Isn’t the saying _once is accidental, twice is a habit_?)

And if she’s hurt when she comes back later that night and crawls into bed next to Cordelia, she doesn’t show it.

**

“You fucked up,” Coco drawls, the wine obviously affecting her now too.

“Yeah, I know. At least she came back that time.”

“She loves you, and you didn’t say a fucking thing.”

Cordelia nods, repeats, “I know.”

Right on the dot, a decent looking guy with blonde hair swings his arm around Coco’s waist and bear hugs her from behind. Squealing, Coco turns and peppers his face with kisses until Cordelia nearly starts gagging.

“Cords, this is Brandon. Brandon, this is Cordelia.”

“Pleasure,” he says, without a glance in her direction. “I got you and I a booth over there, come join me babe.”

“I can’t leave her alone,” Coco barely protests.

Just because Cordelia is painfully solitary doesn’t mean she wants everyone else to be. She waves them off, telling her she’ll grab an Uber home. Reluctantly, Coco kisses her on the cheek and is gone in the wave of people.

Checking her watch, Cordelia decides to finish her glass and call it a night. Just as she takes a sip, a honey-sweet voice fills her ears. “This seat taken?”

Looking up and meeting an admittedly beautiful pair of brown eyes, Cordelia finds herself nodding without a second thought. Long hair one shade away from black, the woman situates herself and effortlessly receives the bartender’s attention with a two finger salute.

“Captain Morgan, and another for my friend here.” The accent is rich, definitely not Southern. Hints of Portuguese, maybe.

Cordelia brings herself to protest, but her new friend is waving her off, seemingly happy to buy the drink. Leaning in, she says, “You’ve saved me, some dickhead on the other side of the bar has been trying to charm himself into my pants all night. What’s the point of coming alone to a bar nowadays, right? I should have known better.” When she laughs, Cordelia is surprised to find herself mirroring the amusement.

For the first time in a long time, she isn’t caring about anything but the company she’s sharing.

“Bridget,” the woman offers her hand. Gold ringed fingers are presented, and Cordelia takes them. She’s used to silver, but she’s getting acquainted with whatever life hands to her these days.

“Cordelia.”

This would be better with a nameless, faceless interaction, but she’ll take what she can get.

“You’ve been crying, Cordelia?”

Forgetting that she had in fact shed some tears within the past twenty minutes, she shrugs good-naturedly. “What’s the point of being in a bar alone nowadays if you can’t cry, right?”

From there, a selfish and egotistical part of Cordelia exposes itself. The seedy underbelly of her more refined emotions reveal themselves slowly and meticulously, but what are they there for if not a cause for you to feel them at full capacity?

Which is why, two hours later, Cordelia finds herself being driven to Bridget’s nice, spacious apartment in the back of a taxi with lipstick marks on her neck and a hand teetering dangerously close to the inside of her thigh.

Stumbling inside the door, heels clicking against hardwood, Cordelia only stops for one brief second to calculate how much alcohol is swimming inside her brain. “Wine? Vodka? Weed?” Bridget is behind her kitchen island, shirt sleeves rolled up as she pours a glass of water. Handing it over, she smirks as Cordelia gratefully sips it down.

“I didn’t come for the alcohol.”

If Bridget is taken aback by the boldness, she hides it well with a sly grin. “Follow me.”

In her bedroom, dark except for the large walk in closet light, Cordelia waits as Bridget beckons her near. When they’re chest to chest, she coyly asks, “Are you going to undress for me, Cordelia?” Bridget doesn’t smell as good as _she_ did up close, but the notes of sandalwood and lavender filling her senses are a welcomed distraction.

“Depends if I’ll get my way after.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Bridget responds, “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

With that, Cordelia strips herself until she’s down to the matching set she’s now glad she pulled on in lieu of other more embarrassing undergarments. Strong arms wrap around her midsection and toss her effortlessly on the bed, where she lands with a soft squeak. Bridget is in a similar state of undress, her hair falling in waves around them as she situates herself with two legs on either side of Cordelia’s waist. When a hand slips inside her panties, she braces herself for all Hell to break loose.

There’s a tiny ringing sound in the back of Cordelia’s ears when they roughly kiss. Perhaps it’s a reminder that this is wrong, that things have gone a step too far. But maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s an announcement that Cordelia is quite capable of moving on; can begin her new life in which she is born again into a person that doesn’t allow memories to cling to the folds of her brain like rot.

(Isn’t it all pretend, anyway?)

That’s why it doesn’t matter that Bridget allows Cordelia to turn the closet light off and close her eyes, imagine it’s another body moving against hers. It doesn’t matter that the warm lips closing around her intimate parts are too demanding and eager; not at all soft and cherishing like _hers_ were.

When she’s finally crying out to the gods and coming, it doesn’t matter that the face she sees beyond the bursts of bright light is not the one of the woman in her arms.

Cordelia tells herself it’s okay, even when they’re both aware it is not. Later, she closes her eyes and allows Bridget to move too close, forgoing excuses and dismissals. She is just too fucking tired.

Streaming sunlight momentarily blinds Cordelia as she opens her eyes, followed quickly by terror at the unfamiliar setting and a splitting headache sitting at the base of her skull. “Jesus,” she mutters to herself, patting the flattering comforter that matches the rug. Lying her head back down on the too-firm pillow, she pieces her night together like a puzzle she does not wish to complete. Thankful that her companion has seemingly started on breakfast, Cordelia slowly and painstakingly re-dresses, searching desperately for her underwear. Instead of trying to psychoanalyze where the fuck her mind has been the last eight hours, she follows the smell of turkey bacon down the hall into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Delia.”

Her fingers twitching, Cordelia avoids asking Bridget not to call her that nickname. It’s reserved for one person and one person only. Even if that person no longer could recognize her.

“Hi.”

“I’m not trying to make this awkward, I just really wanted some bacon and eggs this morning.” Bridget gestures towards Cordelia’s purse clutched tightly in her grip.

“I have to get back to my house, there’s people that depend on me.”

“All’s fair. Can I see you again?”

“Sure.” At least she tries to make it seem believable.

“Okay, cool,” Bridget smiles and Cordelia’s stomach turns. Backing towards the door, she slips her heels back on and wishes desperately that this has all been a sick dream.

“Oh, by the way, you were mumbling in your sleep, you know. Somebody’s name or something, over and over.”

Cordelia swallows thickly. “What name?”

“Misty, I think. Ex-girlfriend?”

“Something like that.” Letting the door shut behind her, Cordelia stares down at the street before setting her shoulders and beginning a slow pace to the only place she’ll ever feel at home.

Walking for what feels like days, she readily accepts that there must be ramifications now, a clear defining reason why she’s just figuratively exposed herself to the elements. Last night means nothing, but at the same time it is a personification of Cordelia’s worst demons struggling to reach the surface, to fight and scream until they’re heard. And God, does she hear them now. Self loathing mixes itself with pity and sorrow; manifesting as the day goes on. All that’s left now is to forge ahead, make a habit out of not listening to the ugly voice that asks to be known.

What a laughable idea, really.

The door is shut as Cordelia approaches the house. Blue trim surrounds the frame, a reminder of the simpler times she’d spent helping Misty clean up the place. Her taste and Misty’s eclectic decor had really made this place more than a home. It was a sanctuary, a safe place.

A graveyard, now.

A site to remind Cordelia that in her past life she had once held a beating heart in her hands and dropped it. Shattered it. Crushed the only real thing she’s ever known. If she squeezes her eyes shut hard enough, she can almost feel Misty’s presence like a ghost or a calling from beyond this realm of living.

“Please get it together,” she thinks out loud. Horrified that she remembers to use her shoulder to wrench the wooden door open, she steps inside without second thought.

It’s empty, at least. She isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. Dust floats in the streams of light she’s let in and there is no mistake Misty hasn’t been here for a while. Good, bad, or otherwise, Cordelia is too tired to make a fuss about it.

Kicking off her now-ruined heels, her dress falls to the floor in similar fashion. Recklessly ignoring blaring signals in her brain, she pulls on an oversized cotton t-shirt, the one she’d been in so many months ago as Misty had made her dinner right here inside these four walls. Wrapping herself in the old crocheted blanket on the still-unmade bed, Cordelia lies down and chooses, for once, to forget.

It’s a Friday morning when Cordelia believes her life to be at its most stagnant. She’s been in this bed for nearly a week now, sleeping on and off. On the second day she’d at least gathered the strength to answer Coco’s incessant texts threatening to put out a police report for her missing body. Thankfully, all was settled and she could peacefully return to slumber.

Stomach grumbling, Cordelia sits up on the small twin bed and pops her limbs. Her neck and back hurt, but how minuscule is that compared to the pressing weight that seems to get heavier every day?

Finding a sleeve of crackers and an old can of sparkling water, she sits cross legged on the bed and begins her snack. Realistically, she can’t spend much more time here unless she wants to begin living off the land. She’s sure the garden has been poorly tended, and she makes a mental reminder to clean it up sometime today. That’s probably the very least she could do for herself, a project that’ll grow into something she can be proud of.

That all turns to shit when there’s a creak on the porch. The wind gets caught in her throat as the door pushes open and then Cordelia is wondering if she’s actually passed away in her sleep sometime last night. She’s almost thankful it feels that way, because there is no chance that she has actually been gifted this heavenly creature.

Thinking that Misty looks like a sight for sore eyes is almost laughable. She is so much more than that. Her presence fills Cordelia to the brim with the most intense emotion, a feeling so incredibly electrifying that it sends chills through every vein.

Misty speaks first. “What are you doing here?”

Cordelia really does try to reply, honestly. She’s just too damn busy trying to remember what drawing air into her lungs feels like.

“You walked?” Glancing at the floor, she takes notice of Cordelia’s meager belongings. “In heels?”

“I had no other shoes,” she answers lamely.

“I see you made yourself at home.” Misty is speaking too casually, like this is not going to hold a lasting impact on her when she leaves again.

Conceivably, Misty no longer knows who she is. She’s looking at Cordelia like she’s seeing straight through her. Maybe this really is the place after death, and Cordelia has actually become someone she can no longer recognize in the mirror. If it is, well, she’s glad she’s made it to the part of afterlife where Misty also resides.

The only thing scaring her is that her hand might go right through Misty’s body.

“Can we - what are you doing back here?”

“This is my home,” Misty reminds gently, “I should be asking you the same question.”

“Where’ve you been?” There are too many questions flashing through Cordelia’s brain like rapid fire. She wants to know how many beats Misty’s heart has produced since they’ve parted, if she’s held anyone else’s body in her hands, how many inches of earth she’s blessed with her presence. So many things to do and say, but time is moving at a rapid pace like lava inching its way towards her frozen feet.

“Here n’ there.” Misty is busy opening cupboards and filling her bag without a care in the world. Cordelia’s chest aches more heavily with every passing moment. She’s trying to drink all of this in, but her eyes hurt from being blinded by the beauty.

“I missed you,” she says in a tiny voice.

“Doesn’t really seem it,” Misty finally looks at her like they’re meeting for the first time again. This time, there is nothing behind her eyes. There is no spark or indication she is happy to see her. Somehow, this hurts the least out of everything. “You didn’t take any of my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Sure.”

“Can you sit down? I’d like to talk.”

“I’m also busy.”

“Please,” Cordelia is full on pleading now, but she cannot risk watching her walk out the door again. That, she certainly would not survive.

Misty relents, perching herself on the counter. “Go ahead.”

“Are you okay? Have you been eating enough?”

“Guess so.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t take your calls,” Cordelia closes her eyes and wishes to sink into the mattress. “It would be too hard.”

“I wasn’t expecting much from ya anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Misty levels their gaze and boldly says, “I dunno why you’re pretending you cared so much for me. I’m surprised you even knew I was gone.”

“Oh, don’t be cruel. You’re the one that left, remember?”

“For good reason.”

“Yeah, and I’m still trying to figure that fucking reason out,” Cordelia fires back. There is a rising pressure that makes the room go dark around the edge of her vision, like she’s fighting the nerve to black out and spew more venom in her words.

“Makes sense you didn’t understand,” Misty’s voice is quick and sharp, like all she’s done the last few months is simmer in her seething anger. “You’re too wrapped up in your own goddamn head.”

“Forgive me for being self-centered. I forgot I’m the one that got up and left a whole life behind.”

This storm raging above them has finally met its cumulative breaking point. Metaphorical rain and lightning now pounds down around them, adding fuel to the fire. Misty blinks once, twice, then on the third, she quite literally laughs out loud.

(This - _this_ scares Cordelia.)

“You never got it, did you?” Misty clutches her stomach as laughter peals out. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she releases a sound of disbelief. “All this time.”

Cordelia picks at the fuzz balled on the hem of the blanket. “Got what?” she reluctantly asks.

“I didn’t just do this for myself, Cordelia.” She doesn’t wait for a reply, merely continues, “You really didn’t see? I did this for us.”

_But - there is no us. Not anymore._

Weary now, Cordelia rubs her temples slowly in an attempt to bring herself back to the present. “That doesn’t make any sense. How did you leaving me help?”

“We were too codependent, Delia.” The more Misty speaks, the more her words encroach on territory Cordelia can begin to understand. “I needed to separate to find myself again and you needed to find yourself for the first time.”

For the _first_ time. Cordelia understands now what Coco had meant that day. She has filled the empty spaces in her chest with relationships instead of self love; has given herself projects to conquer in the form of living, breathing people. It had been unfair to Misty to keep her hidden away from the world as though Cordelia was her keeper and she was the prisoner. Barely disguised as love, they were sharing a sick secret between the two of them that their hearts were being held together with a fraying string.

Not knowing who you are at the core will do that, ruin relationships no matter how strangely connected you’ve become.

A gasping sob launches from the back of Cordelia’s throat and she has to hug her knees to her chest in order to prove she has not been shot through the heart. She rocks herself, reminiscent of the very few memories she has of Fiona holding her as a child. The nightmare she’s in has to end eventually, but squeezing her eyes shut in hopes of awakening does nothing because she can still hear the owls and smell Misty’s unique scent.

Even if she does understand now, the damage has been done. Her heart is left ravaged like the battlefield after a war, sits in tiny shreds waiting to be disposed of. Misty had been gone to make a point this entire time, and all Cordelia had managed to do was make things worse for herself.

She doesn’t feel the bed dip, but all of a sudden there is a soft palm on her knee. Startled, she wrenches away.

“Sorry.” Misty bites her bottom lip, and she does look terribly remorseful for inhibiting her space. It’s not hers anymore to take up, they exist in separate worlds now.

Cordelia’s pain and confusion lay in a puddle on the floor in front of her, and suddenly all she wants is Misty to sweep it under the bed for them so they can move forward. Ugly truths have no right being so visible, but it’s all she’s got left. It might no longer be her place to ask, but Jesus if she doesn’t open her mouth to try.

Instead, all that comes out is, “I love you.” It surprises her, even.

There is no reaction from the extension of her heart that has been cleanly severed for months. Just clear blue eyes staring back, unblinking.

“I do.” She’s babbling now, her tears rolling in hot waves down her cheeks. “I didn’t tell you before, I was too scared.”

Misty tilts her head to the side as she considers this, muses over the admission like she’s deciding if it’s real or not. Cordelia’s lip trembles as time ticks on, and she’s sure she looks like a complete madwoman.

“Do you really believe that?”

“More than I’ve ever believed anything.”

Steadily tapping her foot into the cabin floor, Misty shifts so her arms are crossed around her torso; a clear and concise wall for Cordelia to scale. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m different now.”

“I don’t know what I want either.” Picking just one thing would be so difficult, this is the easiest answer.

“Then don’t confuse me. I’m tired.”

“I’m not - Misty, I’m not trying to make this hard for you.”

“You’re doin’ a pretty shit job of it.”

From here, an alter ego takes control over Cordelia’s mind and it is no longer holding back. “I want to marry you. I want to hold you at the end of every day, and I want your face to be the last thing I see before I die. Then after that, I want you to be waiting for me wherever I end up going.”

“Don’t say that,” Misty says too harshly.

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“Don’t say it unless you mean it.”

Cordelia purposefully puts her hands on Misty’s body. Granted it’s only her shoulders, but the connection has been such a long time coming that they both shiver. “I wouldn’t lie. Not now. Not after everything.”

Misty is looking at her with that same look she’d given the day she walked out the door. Cordelia still, after all this time, cannot read the expression. Shame and instantaneous regret begin seeping through every pore, but at the same time she feels weightless. Pride simmers underneath the more violent emotion.

“I didn't think you loved me. How could you?” For the first time in her life, Misty looks small. Broken, somehow, despite the limitless strength Cordelia knows she possesses. “I’m nothin' special.”

But, oh, is she so wrong. Misty is everything that is sacred about this life. She is good and she is pure, she makes souls sing and skies clear. Cordelia has the urge to start listing off all the ways Misty should be written in the stars, her mortal being simply a vessel to spread love across this earth.

It’s just so hard to stop after she starts, so Cordelia pockets the idea for later and asks, “Who made you believe that?” _Tell me - tell me so I can rid them of this planet_.

“My damn self,” Misty chuckles weakly.

“Stop listening to that voice. I’m serious.”

Misty is still quietly watching her, and Cordelia can see her brain trying to play catch up in the whirlwind of events. "I told you not to fall apart without me."

Cordelia offers a broken sob and blinks back wet tears. "And you should have known I never listen."

Then - if you asked Cordelia to describe the next few seconds, she’s not sure she could do so because Misty’s lips are parting and she’s swallowing up the pain little by little. As each kiss becomes more meaningful, her cavern of a heart takes in Cordelia’s hurt and anguish and diminishes it until there is nothing left but a dull ache that dissipates with each touch.

(She was always the stronger of the two anyway.)

“ _Delia_ ,” she whispers against the constricting throat, “Delia, I missed you.” Her fingers clutch any durable surface they can find, leaving tiny crescent nail shaped marks that thrills them both. Being marked by Misty is such an honor, one Cordelia isn’t sure she could ever repay. She’s ready to try, though.

Cordelia is busy re-mapping the expanse of cream colored skin with her lips but manages a quiet, “I love it when you say my name. It doesn’t sound right coming from anyone else.” She moves her body in tandem as Misty trembles in her arms. It’s glorious. Holy.

Pushing them backwards, Misty gains the upper hand by maneuvering them down on the bed. She keeps saying _I need you, I need you_ but Cordelia knows she has it backwards. Misty has no idea how much Cordelia has needed her more. Perhaps she has found parts of herself in the absence, but there has been and will always be a space in her heart carved out where Misty fits perfectly.

There’s time to dwell on that later. She sounds so incredibly insistent right now.

Not bothering to waste time undressing, Cordelia nestles her hand under Misty’s skirt and sighs loudly when her fingers meet familiar wet warmth. Forgoing the persistent thought that she has hallucinated all of this, she settles a hand across the small of Misty’s back to pull her recklessly close. Forehead to forehead, chest to chest.

With a breathy whine, she lifts her hips and feels Cordelia push two fingers inside. With rose colored cheeks, she begins a steady rock of her hips, rolling them so that she can feel everything all at once. Misty takes Cordelia’s jaw in her hand, angles it so their noses brush and teeth knock together. She’s yearning for it all. A physical, mental, and spiritual connection. The deeper she takes Cordelia’s long fingers, the louder she becomes. She’s crying out for lost time, but there is nothing now but the blood pumping loudly in her ears.

Hearing the symphony of noises only spurs Cordelia on. For all the nights she’d spent alone trying to remember every detail of this intimate connection, nothing is as good as the real thing. Misty’s short gasps and soft breath on her cheek is something she could have never conjured up, not even in her wildest dreams. She slides her fingers back in slowly, pulls them out just to selfishly hear the protest in Misty’s voice as she begs.

“Let me have this,” Cordelia says. “Let me take my time.”

“No,” Misty shakes her head. “Later, please.”

The promise of later is enough. Cordelia grips Misty’s hip to aid a smooth grind, pleased when she arches her back in search of the sweet mix of pleasure and pain. “Harder,” she pleads on a broken sigh, groaning when another finger toys between them. “Do it.”

Pressing forward, the accompanying groan is like music to her ears. Rolling her thumb over Misty’s clit, she keeps up a steady pace until she is jerking and moaning and finally, blissfully coming all over her hand.

Misty’s head is heavy on Cordelia’s shoulder but the rest of her body jolts as the waves of pleasure crash into her thin frame. Taking her hand, Cordelia kisses each fingertip before gently removing her own fingers from between clenched thighs. Gaining little control of her limbs back, Misty mirrors the act and sucks the wet digits into an eager mouth.

Satisfied, she drops her weight back down atop Cordelia and is pleased to feel nails scratching at her back. No one before this had ever held her so delicately, treated her like a fragile item and not the problem she’s always believed herself to be.

Cheek to cheek, all she can hear now is Cordelia’s shallow breaths and soothing heartbeat below her ribcage.

“Did you mean it?” she asks in a low voice. Twilight makes its hazy appearance through the small window and the golden hues light up Cordelia’s eyes like she is an artist’s greatest muse. She is ethereal.

The dull ache between Cordelia’s legs intensifies as Misty’s thigh introduces itself to them. Unconsciously pressing against it, she flutters her eyes shut and feigns sanity. “Mean what?”

Misty pushes harder against the apex, delighted when Cordelia bucks forward. “That you wanna marry me.”

Pushing her pants down to her ankles, Cordelia rushes to resume position. Sliding herself slowly across the expanse of Misty’s thigh, her breath gets caught when she realizes just how wet she’s gotten. “Of course I do.”

“Say it again.” Misty’s teasing touch grows demanding, flicking at a nipple until Cordelia is making these high pitched cries.

“I want to marry you, wherever.” She grinds herself down, her clit rubbing against the surface in the most mind numbing sensation. She is speaking from the bottom of her heart through the haze of wandering lips and firm pressure. It’s hard, but there are few things in life she knows for certain and that is one of them. “Whenever.”

The bed bangs against the wall as their bodies move in synchronization, a two person dance perfected over the years and still carried out with zero flaws. Misty knows every inch of her skin; remembers the places that elicit the noises she wants to hear and the places that make Cordelia toss her head back. When she’s close, Misty moves so she can take a perky nipple into her mouth and gently suck, just enough to where she knows it’ll send Cordelia right over the edge.

With wet lips and a coy look in her eye, Misty watches as Cordelia reaches her high, the bliss exploding euphoria straight through every vein. Pleased with herself, she tethers them down to this earth and relaxes her muscles, holding the woman she missed so badly with every fiber of her being.

“Good?”

Cordelia nods rapidly, still desperately trying to stop the erratic shakes. The scene is entirely too amusing, and Misty is surprised to feel herself laughing out loud for what feels like the first time in a long time. They kiss through the rumbles of laughter and tears, hands tangling in hair and naked bodies searching for the perfect fit.

“Ask me again.” Misty looks up at Cordelia just in time to see a tear slip from the corner of her eye.

“Misty Day, will you marry me?”

Whimsical behavior like this has always held too many risk factors for Cordelia, but there’s something about having Misty in her arms that gives her the confirmation it’ll work out. In no uncertain terms is this dangerous and unpredictable, but at the same time it is incredibly genuine. There is nothing to come after Misty, she is the be all, end all.

Shrugging her shoulder, with her heart proudly on display, the wild haired blonde jokes, “Maybe I will. Haven’t decided yet.”

When Cordelia groans, Misty giggles until it hurts, the happiness sweeping over her like a childhood blanket.

Later, after discussing the past eight months in severe detail, Misty suddenly grows serious.

“This doesn’t change a whole lot, y’know? I’ll still need to be on my own, at least some of the time.”

“I thought about it,” Cordelia muses, “what if I got you plumbing here? And electricity?”

Misty studies the only place she’s ever called home for a moment before nodding. “Guess I kinda need an upgrade.”

“You can stay here whenever you need and I’ll split my time, does that sound okay?”

Snuggling into her chest, she nods. “Sounds ‘bout just as good as I could dream it.”

“Okay.” Cordelia feels like she can finally breathe.

“Okay,” Misty smiles back, and it’s so beautiful the wind is knocked right from her chest again.

It’s a bright and early Saturday morning down at the courthouse, surrounded by calla lilies and drawn up marriage paperwork, when Cordelia’s heart becomes whole again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you see me posting foxxay fic in the year 2021 no you did not


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